


Moments of Magic

by ComeAlongPond14



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Finger Sucking, Friends With Benefits, Frustration, No Slash, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Tension, Table Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongPond14/pseuds/ComeAlongPond14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Set in/post series 3, so John doesn't live in 221B anymore.] Molly comes to check on Sherlock, and finds him in a frustrated state. As usual, she finds her own sweet, passionate way to help him out.</p><p>Title from Dessa's "Matches to Paper Dolls," my first favorite by that beautiful artist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> ....I am so sorry that this isn't an update for TWAA. I have had the WORST week, and writing a chapter of my boys being sweet and slow to fall in love and awkward was just so hard. I hope to write it...tomorrow...ugh.
> 
> Anyway, this happened because I tell myself stories when bored, and I had a Sherlock x OFC fling happening, and then decided to write it, and then replaced the suspiciously-Whovian-sounding fictitious "Amy" with Molly and voila.
> 
> PLEASE FORGIVE ME, I promise TWAA will update soon!!!

Molly paused on the landing, just outside the door to 221B, suddenly aware that something felt distinctly not right. The air was too still, as if the very space around them was holding its breath, waiting for something to change, and break the silence.

With one tentative hand, she reached forward and nudged the door, and it swung inward soundlessly. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside--then froze.

Sherlock stood at the table between the windows, leaning his weight on the wooden surface, his palms pressing flat against it. Tension radiated from him in waves, and the occasional tremor rippled from his shoulders, down his back and arms, making the legs of the table creak.

What had stopped Molly cold, however, was the thin wooden box lying inches from his left hand, looking perfectly innocent on the edge of the table, the lid still closed tightly. For now.

She sucked in a horrified breath, raw terror flooding her as she remembered both John Watson and Mycroft warning her of the box, the one they were never able to find between his relapses, the little case that held his tenuous control out of their reach, giving Sherlock a feeling of security that he could always fall back on old habits when distressed.

“Sherlock,” she breathed, and she watched the way he flinched slightly; aware of her, but not wanting her here, not wanting this moment witnessed. In hasty strides she crossed the room, pressing herself into his space, blocking the box from his direct line of sight. One hand rose as if to grasp his shoulder, then stopped, hovering. “Did you--have you--?”

“No.” His voice was low, wrecked, frustration and self-loathing evident in his tone. “Not yet.” His eyes were closed, and she knew better than to touch or to pressure him just yet. “I--I thought I should, to clear my mind, to solve the case, but I...I knew what would happen...”

“You do,” she agreed firmly, reaching behind her to snatch the box, feeling the weight of its contents shifting within. There would be a syringe, perhaps two, and at least three black bottles, unlabeled, ready to be broken into to perform their terrible, destructive job. “You can’t, Sherlock, you just _can’t_.”

When he didn’t respond, she thought quickly, then reached her decision. She had to act while he was still in conflict, unable to even look at her. “Give me your cuffs,” she said swiftly, “And the key.”

He frowned, eyes remaining closed, but obliged, reaching blindly to find the silver cuffs on the table, and handed them over. Without pausing, Molly snapped one band around his wrist, then attached the other to the table leg. “Sherlock, I will come right back up and release you, and waiting for that is more logical than picking it open, or even shimmying it off the leg. _Leave it_ , hear me? I will be _right back_.”

He must have understood that it was a distraction, a trivial means of persuading his brain to remain calm and not attempt to prevent her from removing the box, because he nodded. Molly turned and fled, running down the stairs and rapping on the door of 221A.

Standing where she’d left him, Sherlock heard the low murmur of Molly’s voice, and Mrs. Hudson’s motherly tone replying with obvious concern, and within minutes, there were footsteps....two sets...the front door opening and closing...and then again, slow, soft footsteps climbing back up the stairs.

Molly returned, crossing to him and not hesitating now to raise one hand to his shoulder, her thin fingers pressing hard to make him open his eyes, and look at her. She looked so concerned, yet so determined. He sucked in a breath. “Mrs. Hudson took it away, then? Turning me in to the police, are you?”

Molly’s eyes lightened, but she couldn’t bring herself to smile at the feeble joke. “Daft man. It is gone, though, and you need to settle that head of yours.” Reaching out, she slid the key into the lock of the cuffs, and the set rattled to the floor as it fell from his wrist.

The noise seemed to jerk him back to whatever case had been distressing enough to reduce him to nearly surrendering to his addiction, and Sherlock’s eyes darkened. Before Molly could make a sound, he grasped both her wrists, dragging her around and pressing her entire body between his own and the table.

A small squeak of surprise left her, but no other indication of protest or fear emerged. For a long moment they were still, Sherlock’s weight pinning her to the hard wooden edge, and Molly’s breath came hard and fast. “Sherlock...?”

His eyes flashed icy-white, and Molly was stunned to see his pupils dilating, to feel a slight shift in his stance, and unmistakable hardening in his body. Her eyes dropped in disbelief. “What, _me_? Really?"

Sherlock’s whole body seemed to hunch in on itself slightly, and something rather like uncertainty filled his eyes. “I’m--I don’t--” His hands began to loosen their grasp, but the heat was still there in his gaze, and he was still hard against her thigh.

Molly relaxed, letting him feel her compliance, the way she adjusted to his position. Her legs spread marginally, letting him settle against her, and her abdomen trembled with the effort of holding herself in a somewhat awkward manner, half-standing, half-perching on the table.

Sherlock’s glasz gaze cut to hers, and Molly held her breath, waiting. He seemed to be debating with him, and she decided to help him along, squirming just a little, rubbing against the hard curve of his erection. She was wearing a skirt today, a rare choice, something she only did on her days off, and the thin fabric let her feel him perfectly, dragging a soft whimper from her. His eyes darkened with arousal.

“Molly.” It was such a low, promising rumble, and it went straight to her core, a low burning need beginning to smoulder deep in her belly. “I...it’s the noise in my head, I don’t know if I actually....”

 _Oh_ , the poor dear man. Molly smiled up at him, twisting her wrists so that she could grasp his hands in hers, still pressing her body against his. “I know that, Sherlock, it’s why I’m offering. Anything but the drugs, just...please. Take what you need.” Their gazes held, his seeming to search for something, and she let herself open to him, answering with every softening line of her body. “Take it.”

Looking almost wondering, Sherlock raised one hand, and she released her hold, watching the pale fingers until they brushed her lips, tracing the moist skin with a serene sort of reverence. Curious, a little daring, Molly parted her lips, her tongue darting out to brush against his fingertips, and when they slid deeper at the contact, she sucked one digit very lightly into her mouth.

Something seemed to snap in his mind, and with a low groan he jerked both hands downward, seizing her waist and lifting her properly onto the tabletop. One beautiful, dexterous hand went to her thigh, wrapping one of her legs firmly around his hips. Molly moaned at the increased friction against her cotton-covered pussy, struggling to reach a hand down to get rid of that barrier.

Sherlock beat her to it, spreading her legs with a shockingly assertive push, the hand not grasping her knee slipping down between them. His long fingers hooked into the cotton waistband, dragging her panties away from her body. When it became clear he’d need to shift back to remove them, however, Sherlock clearly decided that this wasn’t acceptable. With a low growl, he gripped the elastic band and yanked, ripping the fabric completely away.

Molly breathed out a helpless little laugh, too turned on to really protest. “Lucky those weren’t a pair I cared about,” she teased, and he shot her a smirk before reaching one hand back up, dipping two fingers into her open mouth, and Molly whimpered and sucked them in, sliding her tongue wetly over them, tasting the salty sweet flavor of his skin.

And then her whole body arched up, a cry of pleasure tearing from her as his other hand closed over her bared pussy, fingers easily sliding over the moist flesh to tease at her entrance. “Sherlock!”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he persisted, slipping two fingers inside her to match the light thrusting of the fingers in her mouth. Molly positively mewled with need, sucking hard and trying to push down, to take him deeper, but he denied her, maintaining perfect control. “Please,” she breathed out, and as if in reward, his thumb came up to rub hard against her clitoris, fanning the flames.

She was writhing, struggling to remember to breathe, feeling wanton and glorious stretched out over the table, still clothed--they _both_ were, oh, _God_ , it was hot--as he fingered her swiftly toward orgasm. Her mind filled with a rising wave of bliss, and her hands wrapped loosely around both his wrists, feeling the muscles flex and shift as he continued to pleasure her.

“Sherlock,” oh, her voice, she sounded absolutely debauched, it was delicious, “Sherlock, please, I...I need you inside me, please...?”

He leaned over her, his lips grazing along her jaw until he reached her ear, nibbling lightly at the lobe as he slowed his hands down, dragging out the stimulation against her clit. “Now? Or shall I bring you to orgasm with my hand first, Molly?”

 _Oh God, that voice should be illegal_. Molly whined, continuing to wriggle against his hands, but he remained steady, keeping her just on the edge. “Now, please, now, let me come on your cock, please!”

Sherlock’s laughter was just a hot gust of breath against her skin, and it made her feel as if her blood was on fire. “Of course.” His hand slid from her mouth, but she couldn’t protest when he breathed in her ear, “Do you have...?”

Right, safety, she was a doctor--sort of--she knew that. “Uh, yes, purse--behind you to the right a bit--” She bit off a yelp as he withdrew his fingers from her unexpectedly, turning to grab the handbag. “Front inside pocket,” she whimpered, sighing in relief when he returned with the foil packet, making swift work of rolling on the condom.

And then he was back, pressing up against her, and she arched her hips to meet him as he slid into her at last. Their groans mingled together as his hand found hers, fingers twisting into a death-grip that she needed just as badly, feeling his hips slap roughly against her own as he fucked her fully clothed, just the fly of his trousers undone.

Sherlock leaned over her, his lips returning to the tender skin of her throat and latching on, sucking kisses and light nipping bites that had her crying out in pleasure and pain, threading her free hand into his thick curls, clutching him to her as he thrust over and over and over, his left hand closing in a bruising grasp around her hip. The pressure was faint, nothing compared to the battering he was giving her inner thighs, and it grounded her, made her feel safe and stable as he pounded his frustration and need into her body.

And then he angled his hips a little, unexpectedly finding the sweet spot deep within, and Molly flung her head back with a cry of relief as she was overwhelmed, tumbling over the edge into her orgasm. She gasped his name as he let his weight fall forward, pressing her fully onto the tabletop, making the entire thing shake on its four thin legs as he fucked her through her climax.

Feeling her spasm and clench around his cock, Sherlock groaned into her neck, his thrusts becoming jerky and uncoordinated--and then his whole body stiffened, and Molly could feel it, the delicious pulsing of his orgasm, as he came deep inside her.

They remained still for several breathless, sweaty minutes, clinging to each other, and then he shuddered and drew back, straightening to stare down at her with an unusual amount of concern in those sea-glass colored eyes. “Are you--did I hurt you?”

Molly giggled, smoothing a hand through her sweat-soaked hair--her tie had disappeared, leaving it damp and tangled in what was likely the most “thoroughly-fucked” hair she’d ever experience. “Well, certainly not in any ways I’ll regret.” She raised a hand, stroking his arm reassuringly. “I’m fine, Sherlock.”

Sherlock offered her a smile, and she could see the gratitude in his eyes; he really had needed this release. Slowly he pulled out of her, making her sigh at the loss, and he turned to dispose of the condom. Molly pulled herself up gingerly, tugging up the hem of her blouse to peer at the hand-shaped bruise that was already faintly visible on her hip.

Her giggle made Sherlock turn, and when he saw it, he looked shocked at himself. “I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be,” she said, laughing as she eased onto her feet, noticing with distant amusement that they hadn’t even gotten their shoes off. His zip was done back up, and except for the high flush on his cheeks, and the way his hair was rather well-rumpled from her hands, he might not look like he’d just had a good shag at all. “You needed that, and I wanted to give it to you.” She paused, staring into his face. “ _Are_ you alright, now?”

Sherlock exhaled slowly, and something like peace settled onto his features. “I think so, yes. Thank you, Molly, I...that was...very good of you.”

Molly snorted, tugging her skirt back into place. “Most unusual thing I’ve ever done to ‘help’ a friend, to be sure.” She was smiling, and her complete ease with the situation seemed to reassure him, judging by the way his shoulders relaxed.

And then his face lit up almost manically, and Molly jumped slightly as he gasped, “Oh--of course! Why didn’t I see--Oh!” And he turned away, striding into the kitchen and bending over the microscope that she recognized as the one missing from the St. Bart’s lab.

Molly smiled fondly at the detective, listening to him mutter to himself, something about the color of a specific flower when it received enough sunlight. Turning away, she dug out her mobile and fired off a quick text, assuring John Watson and Greg Lestrade that she had checked on him, and he was doing okay for now, busy with their case. Appeared to have had a breakthrough.

Behind her, there was a breath of stillness, and then she heard Sherlock moving back toward her. His hand closed over her shoulder and she turned, smiling up at him. It tugged her heart a bit to know that this wasn’t the sort of man he was, that he didn’t need a constant relationship to remain grounded, but she was still pleased she could help him at all.

Sherlock’s eyes were kind as he returned her smile. “Thank you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “That...you saved me, Molly.”

Molly pressed her own hand over his, nodding--she didn’t need to say anything, he understood. Sherlock leaned down, his lips brushing her cheek in an adorably chaste gesture after what they had just shared, and then he was gone again, back at his work. Molly grabbed her purse and headed for the door, pulling her mobile out again, planning to phone for take-away to be delivered to 221B, to make sure he ate something after all that exertion.

Behind her, the floorboards creaked as he leaned around the corner of the kitchen doorway. “Molly?”

She stopped at the door and looked back, and found him looking at her with something suspiciously close to a flirtatious smile. It looked so out-of-place on him that she had to suppress a giggle.

His lips quirked, obviously reading it on her face. “Perhaps....again, sometime, Molly.”

Warmth flooded her body, and she grinned at him in agreement. As he vanished from view again, she found herself loving him just a little bit more than ever.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I only used the word "cock" twice in this. When it's John he's fucking, I feel like it's every other word. XD


End file.
